Ring
by Rasiaa
Summary: He wasn't supposed to be snooping. He did it anyway.


It's simple, really. The band is gold, real gold, and fits the ring finger perfectly. It was clearly commissioned, for its simplicity. But it's beautiful, all the same. It rolls between fingers, while green eyes watch it carefully, the soul in the emerald depths hopeful and broken and aching all at once. The eyes blink, and tears stream from each eye, first from the left, then the right.

It's one-thirty in the morning, and he isn't home, yet, again. It's the third time this week, and it's only Wednesday. It's the ninth time this month, and they're just barely into the second week. The hand lowers itself onto the sheets, the ring resting on the sheet, the person behind the action mulling that information over as he stands, pulling his shirt over his head. With each thought, his heart breaks a little more, and he slides under the covers. He sighs, and closes his eyes; more tears sliding down his face.

He opens his eyes again, looking at the ring that is once more being held between his fingers. He knows that he shouldn't have looked in the bedside table, where it had been hidden. But he was looking for the rosary that he knows was probably in the living room coffee table anyway. Or maybe it would be in the kitchen, somewhere. Or maybe he took it with him to work for the first time in lord knows how long. A few months, maybe.

Not that it matters, anyway. He isn't even entirely certain why he was looking for it in the first place, since he isn't religious at all. He's an atheist, actually, so God means nothing to him. Maybe for something of his boyfriend, who should have been home by now but isn't. Yeah, probably. Instead, he found a fucking engagement ring he can't even believe exists in the first place.

A key turns in the lock, down the hall, and the door opens, but he's to shocked to do anything about it before he's in the doorway to their bedroom, shirt halfway undone and shoes untied, staring in shock at the ring. For one more moment, he stares at the gold circle before his gaze turns to his boyfriend, who is still crying on the bed. The emerald eyes blink one more time, releasing one more set of tears, before turning to the doorway to meet wide blue eyes. Their gazes meet and lock, and the man in the doorway seems to move on autopilot, the shoes falling from his feet and the shirt coming off before he reaches the bed and gathers his boyfriend in his arms.

"I don't know what to say," he says, and the man in his arms lets out a little laugh.

"You don't need to say anything," he replies. "Let me do the talking, Mello. But first, a question," and Mello nods in reply, uncertain to where exactly this is going, because wasn't he supposed to be the one to say marry me? "Why did you think we were ready for this?"

And Mello is struck dumb, for a moment. He hadn't expected that at all. But apparently, his boyfriend doesn't need an answer, because he goes on talking. "Because we're not ready for marriage, Mels. There is a lot to consider, especially that fact that we've been together for almost a decade, and you haven't acknowledged our anniversary, or either of our birthdays, or any other special occasion for six years. It's like you forgot about them. And you have no idea how much that hurts, because after Kira, it's like winning L over is the only thing that matters. But really, Mello, six years! That's more than half the time we've been together!

"Not only that, but you're never home," his voice cracks on the last word, as a few more tears spill from the green eyes that hold so much emotion. "Tonight is a prime example. You get off of work at ten at night, Mello, not one-thirty in the morning. And it's the third time this week, and it's not even halfway through the week. This behavior, too, has gone on for six years. Sometimes you're not home for a few more hours, you know. This isn't the first time I've cried myself to sleep 'cause you're not here."

Mello holds him tighter, horror seeping into every cell of his body. Not because of the things being said, although those are awful things, it's the fact that they're all true. It hadn't occurred to him how much time his boyfriend spends in this apartment, alone. His boyfriend is a hacker by trade, but between three geniuses at work, it's rare that he's needed there. So he does illegal jobs on the side, in the room down the hall, alone. The man has no friends, because they can't even give out their real names to anyone, never mind get out and meet anyone. He closes his eyes and buries his face into his boyfriend's red hair, muttering his name over and over again under his breath. "Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt…" How could he have not noticed this?

"I hate to go on, but there is more, Mello. When you are here, it's like you're really elsewhere. I can't remember the last time we went out to dinner or whatever, or even had dinner here, that wasn't filled with conversations of work, or, not having any conversation at all. We barely talk about anything anymore, and we haven't had sex in weeks. I mean, really, Mello. What the hell? Both aspects necessary to have a healthy relationship are lacking a bit. We barely even kiss anymore, either, because when you come home I'm asleep and when I wake you're gone or about to be."

Matt stops talking and takes a deep breath, his whole body shaking. Mello fears he's about to break up with him. "I love you," he says instead, and Mello is filled with an emotion not quite like relief, and more like fear. "I do. I love you, I love you, I love you. I really fucking love you, Mello. You're my world. My everything." Matt pauses again, and his voice lowers as he leans further into Mello's embrace.

"But, lately, it seems like I'm not yours. I'm not your everything, or your world. And it kills me. It really fucking kills me. Work seems to take up the majority or your life, and your thoughts. It's all about proving to your coworkers, and yourself, that you're smart enough and mentally stable enough to be a detective, to work for L, to save people all around the world. And I get that. I do, I get it. And I think it's great, that you want to save people, and do some good in the world, because lord knows it needs it. It needs people like you, and L, and Near. But L and Near, they don't have anything else. That's all they have. Work, work, and more work. They live in hotels, and communicate with the world through computers and other people.

"But you, you have a home. True, it's a basic home, and we could do so much better, but still. You also have someone who cares about you. You have someone to come home to. You're not alone. I love you. I love you," he repeats, finally falling silent. And for a long time, that is how it stays.

Mello doesn't mind the silence, he is just grateful for every second that passes, he still has a boyfriend. Matt, however, is numb. He is almost asleep when Mello finally speaks up. "I love you too," he says, "But I guess that's a no, huh?" He tries to sound like he doesn't care, but that façade breaks when his voice cracks on the last couple of words.

Matt blinks. "I never said that, Mello. I simply pointed out everything that needs to be fixed before I tell you yes. Because I will say yes. I love you far too much to give you any other answer. I just…" he trails off, unsure of how to proceed.

"Just can't say yes right now?" Mello finishes, hopeful.

"Yeah," Matt agrees. "Yeah, I guess you can put it that way. It's not a no, but not a yes, either. Ugh, I'm sorry, Mello. I probably just totally killed everything and screwed it up, didn't I? I just can't shut up."

"No, you're fine. It was all true anyway. Let's just sleep on it, yeah? And tomorrow, L and Near and everyone else there can go fuck themselves, while I stay home for the day."

"That sounds nice."


End file.
